


Rediscovery

by Blink_Blue



Series: S3 Fics [2]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Asher being a bro, Break Up, Connor being a dick, Connor finding his old self, M/M, Oliver's still cool though, and his confidence, if only they were as mature as I see them in my head, written before ep 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8459059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: Post break up fic.





	

The first night he finds himself standing in the cold outside Asher’s dorm building, shivering because in his fumbling haste to just get out he had forgotten his jacket. The short drive did nothing to calm his thoughts. His hand shakes as he dials Asher’s number hoping the other man picks up quickly. Maybe he’s shaking from the cold. Or maybe it’s from the shock of the break up.

Oliver dumped him.

Maybe he should have seen this coming. Maybe he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. Maybe he shouldn’t let himself feel fucking devastated–like someone ripped open his chest and shoved his heart into his gut. But somehow he let himself be vulnerable, and now he’s cold and alone and at a complete loss for what to do.

Oliver wants to end things. What did he say… He wants some time and space to figure himself out. But where does that leave them? Oliver wants a break, he wants to be alone. But now, after nine months together Connor doesn’t fucking know how to be alone. Which is ironic, he had been alone by his own insistence most of his adult life. He was never one for relationships, always said they weren’t worth the hassle. He avoided them strictly so that he _wouldn’t_ be left vulnerable. And now look at him, standing heartbroken and devastated outside one of the freshmen dorms just hoping to find a place to spend the night. It’s fucking pathetic.

It’s not like Oliver kicked him out though. He wouldn’t have been so heartless. “I know this is your apartment too… And given that September is probably the worst time to go apartment hunting in Philly,” Oliver said, avoiding his gaze. “You can stay on the couch until you find a place of your own.”

Connor had stared at him, tears running down his cheeks, jaw dropped in shock. The idea of even being around the other man for a second longer, much less keep _living_ together in an apartment with no privacy, was an impossibility. He practically ran out the door.

“Connor, what’s up dude?” Asher’s voice suddenly pops up in his ear. “You looking for some help with that new case, ‘cause I’m not willing to share notes, buddy.”

“You owe me a couch,” Connor says gruffy into the phone.

“What?”

“I’m outside your dorm, and I need a place to spend the night.” Connor swallows the lump in his throat. His eyes swing up to glance over the dozens of brightly lit windows of the building, wondering which is Asher’s. “Let me in.”

“I’ll be right out.”

A minute later the door swings open and Connor hurriedly shuffles inside out of the cold.

“Shit, you look awful,” Asher’s eyes are concerned, taking in his ragged appearance and the angry red rims of his eyes. “What happened, man?”

“Oliver broke up with me.”

They’re halfway up the stairs and Asher nearly stumbles over a step. He stares at Connor in shock. “ _What?_ Are you kidding me, dude? I can’t even–”

Connor glares at him and Asher snaps his mouth shut.

“Fuck,” Asher curses as he opens the door to his room, leading them inside. “I can’t believe it, man. I thought you guys were the real deal.”

“Yeah, so did I.” Connor mutters, looking around the small room. It’s not as awful as he had been imagining.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Can I stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, of course!” Asher says quickly. He glances around wondering where he could possibly house his friend. “I uh–just let me move the couch from the lounge in here!”

Connor takes a seat on the bed as he watches the other man run out of the room. A moment later, he hears commotion from outside.

_“Hey, that’s the common room couch!”_

_“I’m your RA, I can do whatever I want! Go back to your room, you should be studying!”_

A slew of grunts and groans later, along with a couple of thumps against the doorway, Asher finally manages to push the couch into the room where it barely fits between the bed and the desk.

“Thanks for the help, bro.” Asher wheezes as he collapses against it.

“You didn’t ask,” Connor mutters.

Asher looks uncertain, which is a strange look on him. He moves around the couch and drops heavily into the seat. “So uh… what happened?”

Connor drops his gaze to the floor, eyes staring at nothing. Oliver doesn’t want him anymore.

“You want to talk about it?” Asher asks softly.

The thought of it alone makes him nauseated, much less _sharing_ it with Asher of all fucking people. “I wanna get plastered.”

“Ah, now that I can help with!” Asher exclaims, jumping up and quickly running over to the mini fridge. “I’ve got just what you need–the cure to any break up–whisky!”

Connor makes a face when he sees the bottle. “Seriously, dude? Jim Beam?”

“Hey,” Asher glares defensively. “I’m poor now, remember?”

“Just shut up and bring the bottle over,” Connor takes the glass Asher hands him and pours himself a generous serving. He can’t help the grimace when the liquid burns down his throat. “I’ve been sober for nine fucking months,” he winces, staring at the amber liquid.

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Asher scoffs, pouring himself his own glass. “Why were you sober again?”

Connor bites his lip and takes another heavy gulp before answering. “Because I told Oliver I had a drug problem in order to cover up for my behavior the night Sam died.”

“Shit,” Asher whispers.

Connor lets out a dry laugh, there’s no humor in it. “I’ve been lying to him our whole relationship,” he murmurs. “Keeping secrets, avoiding the truth… I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You couldn’t have told him the truth, bro.” Asher says, shaking his head and trying to be the voice of reason. “You can’t drag him into our mess. It’s too dangerous. You were just trying to protect him.”

“Yeah,” Connor says softly. “That’s what I kept telling myself the whole time. So many lies, I can’t even keep track of them anymore.” Connor finally glances up from his glass and he gestures with it. “This is really awful, you know.”

Asher glares at him again. “Could you please not shit on my meager means of hospitality?”

Connor’s silent for a moment as they continue to drink the cheap whisky. “I found out that Oliver deleted my Stanford acceptance.”

“Whaaaat?!” Asher’s jaw drops in shock. “Dude, that’s fucked up. I didn’t think the O-man had it in him.”

“Yeah, neither did I.” Connor says, shaking his head. He really did not see this coming. And after he found out… he wasn’t angry, or upset, or whatever emotion Oliver thinks he should have felt. This was just… yet another thing in his life that was out of his control that he had to accept. Or so he thought.

“That’s really fucked up, dude.” Asher continues. “Shit, Stanford man… Wait, you said he broke up with you?”

Connor nods wordlessly.

“How the fuck does that work?!”

“He said that we’re messed up.” Connor chuckles softly. “I don’t know, maybe he’s right. Maybe we are more fucked up than I thought.”

“Hang on,” Asher interrupts him, shaking his head. “I’m still not getting it.”

Connor shrugs, not meeting Asher’s eyes. “I forgave him for Stanford. I just wasn’t mad… And he said that was a part of the problem. We’re just fucked…” He rubs his eyes tiredly, suddenly completely exhausted. “He said he needs time to figure himself out or something.”

Asher stares silently for a moment. “You’re not mad he deleted your Stanford acceptance and then hid it from you for four months?” He asks softly.

Connor blinks. He reaches for the bottle set on the floor and pours himself another full glass. “What’s there to be mad about? It’s in the past. Nothing I can do about it now. So I just accepted it.”

“Dude,” Asher says slowly, like he’s talking to an idiot. “It’s _Stanford._ Damn right you should be pissed!”

“I don’t care about Stanford!” Connor hisses. “I never _wanted_ to go to Stanford. I just wanted to get away from Middleton and this was my excuse to do it!”

“But… But it’s still an opportunity that he had no right to take from you…” Asher tries again. “You’re not the only one keeping secrets, he’s been lying to you too! You’ve got to realize that’s not healthy!”

Connor swallows and nods slowly. “That’s what he said.”

A moment passes where neither of them say a word. “So if you’re not pissed at him… What are you?”

Connor drops his gaze to his nearly empty glass and shrugs his shoulders heavily. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Drunk?”

Asher winces, watching his friend take another heavy sip from the glass.

“I just feel numb.”

“Yeah, maybe you’ve had enough?” Asher carefully moves the bottle away from the other man. Connor doesn’t move to stop him. “Your tolerance is probably shot after damn near a year…”

“Am I really the crazy one here?” Connor suddenly asks. He’s still trying to wrap his head around what happened. Half of Oliver’s words didn’t even register at the time because all he could hear was _‘I think we should break up’._

“What?”

“Is Oliver right? Am I fucking delusional about this? Are we really that fucked up and I just can’t see it?”

“Look I really shouldn’t be giving relationship advice,” Asher says shaking his head. “But I think the O-man might have a point. You’re both lying to each other, keeping secrets… I mean, what he did was pretty fucked up… But we’ve done some pretty fucked up things as well.” His voice takes on the same solemn tone that is rarely heard from him.

“You shouldn’t be okay with what he did. And with all the lies… That’s not how you build a relationship. It doesn’t _work._ Maybe… Maybe this is for the best?”

“But I need him…” Connor hates how his voice cracks angrily. “He’s the only reason I made it this far. He loves me and I love him–shouldn’t that be enough?”

“I’m sorry, dude.” Asher says softly. “But maybe you need to give yourself some more credit. I mean, most people would have cracked by now.”

“I feel like I have,” Connor groans and drops his head heavily. “I don’t know what to do… I literally don’t know what to do–I just ran out of there–”

“Okay, enough whisky for you, buddy.” Asher quickly reaches forward and takes the glass from Connor’s hand before he can shatter what little glassware Asher snuck out of the dining hall.

“Hey buddy, you’re not passing out in my bed tonight! We’re not _that_ good of friends.” Asher helps Connor onto the flimsy couch that he dragged into the room and gives him an extra pillow and blanket. “Don’t worry, dude. The first night is always the worst. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Connor scoffs as he lies down on the couch, closing his eyes to combat the spinning in this head. “Bullshit,” he mutters. “I’m still gonna have to see him.”

“Well, yeah. But not right away!”

Connor mumbles something incoherent and Asher winces, thinking about the hangover he’s going to have the next morning.

“Sleep well, dude.” Asher says softly while pulling out his phone to quickly text Michaela.

_YO WALSH AND O-MAN BROKE UP_

He gets a response less than a minute later: _WHAT??!_

_Yup Walsh came over, got smashed and passed out on my couch._

_You don’t have a couch._

_Fine. The dorm couch._

_Shit, tomorrow’s going to be interesting._

_Tell me about it. Goodnight boo._

_Ew. Don’t do that._

Asher grins and looks up from his screen at the man passed out on his couch. Sympathetically he pulls the thin blanket up higher over Connor’s shoulder.

Break ups suck. He’s not surprised Connor is taking it as hard as he is. And they always seemed like a perfectly happy couple. He wonders how Oliver’s taking the separation. Probably better than Connor. Ah well, nothing he can do but be supportive.

Which is why Asher’s not taking any of Connor’s shit the next morning when he gets brushed off after shaking the other man awake.

“Yo! Wake up or we’re going to be late for class!”

Connor groans and buries his face in his arm. “I’m not going to class,” he grumbles. “Just go without me.” He gestures wildly to where he thinks the door is, but in reality he’s waving somewhere in the vicinity of the closet.

“Somehow I don’t think Annalise will take a break up as an acceptable excuse for missing class,” Asher sighs. “Look dude, I’m sure you’re nursing a massive hangover, but I’m not letting you skip class today. We just need to get some coffee in you!”

“Oliver’s gonna be there,” Connor groans, still not putting an ounce of effort into pulling himself to his feet.

“What?”

“Annalise hired him,” Connor mumbles, as the awful memories of the previous day flood his mind. “He’s going to be there.”

“Fuck,” Asher whispers. “That’s gonna be super awkward.”

“Yes, so just let me drown in my misery on this horrid couch, won’t you?”

“Nope,” Asher claps his hands together loudly, making the other man wince from the pounding in his head. “Not happening, Walsh. This guy already cost you the opportunity of a lifetime at Stanford. I’m not letting him tank your career here as well.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Connor mutters, finally sitting himself up properly.

“Get up, dude. There’s mouthwash on the sink. You look fucking terrible, do you really want Oliver seeing you like that?”

“Fuck you,” Connor grumbles, but still he does as he’s told. Even he grimaces when he sees himself in the mirror. His clothes are wrinkled from sleeping in them, his hair looks like a bird’s nest, and the dark bags under his eyes are horrendous.

“You wanna stop by a drug store and pick up some cover up or something?” Asher says behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry bro, we’ll make you so pretty Oliver will be begging your ass back in no time!”

Connor rolls his eyes and reaches for the mouthwash.

As if he didn’t feel bad enough with his massive hangover and aching heart, the only thing that could make it worse is the pitying glances and sympathetic words he gets from his friends in class.

“I’m so sorry, Connor. How are you doing?” Laurel asks gently, resting her hands on his arms.

“Sorry man,” Wes says kindly. “It must be rough.”

Connor sighs heavily, avoiding their eyes and turning to the last one left.

“Bad timing,” Michaela mutters, gesturing to the front of the room with a nod of her head.

Connor’s heart drops into his stomach when he looks to the front and sees Oliver standing next to Annalise, a soft grin on his face, and bag held tightly in his hand. He wasn’t prepared to see the other man again so soon, even though he knew it was coming, because _damn_ Oliver looks fucking good in his immaculate suit. No one looking at him would know that he had just ended a serious relationship. And that only makes it hurt worse.

“He looks like he’s doing way better than you,” Michaela says under her breath. “No offense,” she quickly adds.

“Everybody to your seats now,” Annalise says, interrupting the chatter of the lecture hall. “Class is about to begin.”

Connor can’t focus on a single second of the lecture. He wouldn’t even be able to say the name of the case if asked. He stares at the ground, wondering the entire time what Oliver is thinking. The other man made eye contact once at the beginning of class when he was being introduced, but broke it half a second later.

Connor had been half hoping to see Oliver show up his first day in a wrinkled suit, hair undone, eyes red from crying. At least show some sign that he’s even affected by Connor’s absence. But he sees no evidence of it. Knowing that Oliver is doing fine without him, makes losing him so much worse.

_“I’ve just described to you one of many potential defenses we could use to help Mr. Lundgren’s case. Someone tell me what this type of defense is called… Mr. Walsh.”_

_“Mr. Walsh?”_

Connor looks up in surprise, shaken out of his thoughts and certain that this wasn’t the first time his name was said. He’s met with Annalise’s hard stare, and he can feel all eyes in the room on him. He swallows uncomfortably as the tips of his ears turn red. One set of eyes in particular– _Oliver’s–_ is especially hard to handle.

“Would you like me to repeat the question, Mr. Walsh–”

“I don’t know.”

Annalise doesn’t look impressed. “You don’t know the answer or you don’t know if you’d like me to repeat the question.”

“I don’t know the answer,” he says monotonously.

“I expect more from you, Mr. Walsh.” Annalise says in a low voice before turning to the rest of the class, choosing to call on one of the many who have their hands raised–and were paying attention.

Connor lets out a slow breath once the attention is no longer on him. A year ago he’d rather be swallowed up by his desk than not know the answer to a professor’s question. Now he’s just half embarrassed, half apathetic. But his eyes flicker to Oliver, and to his surprise Oliver’s gaze is locked on him. He feels a weak tingling in his knees as they hold eye contact. Oliver looks… sad. And Connor can’t quite pinpoint whether that makes him feel better or worse.

Connor looks away first.

By the time class is over, Connor wants nothing more than to not be in the same room as his ex-boyfriend. He glances behind him and sees Asher and Michaela talking, sneaking him concerned glances. He groans silently to himself and quickly heads for the exit. He doesn’t want their fucking pity.

“Connor!”

Connor pauses mid-step and turns around wearily, a sullen expression on his face. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Oliver approaches, looking timid and uncertain for the first time all morning. “What do you want?” Connor mutters. This is the last thing he wants to deal with right now.

"Hi,” Oliver says softly, wringing his hands together nervously. “Um… Where’d you go last night?”

“That’s none of your fucking business,” Connor spits harshly.

“Okay, maybe I deserved that.” Oliver nods and swallows visibly. “I think we really need to talk–”

“We’re not having this conversation right now,” Connor mutters before turning on his tail.

“Then when?” Oliver asks, raising his voice and running after him. “Connor! Are you even coming home tonight?!”

Connor pauses mid-step.

They both do. And they both know why the air is suddenly harder to breathe. Oliver still called it home. Even though to Connor, the apartment they share–shared, feels the furthest thing from home.

Connor shakes his head, his chest too tight to form words, and quickly runs out of the classroom, doing what he does best–running away.

He’s halfway across campus, no destination in mind when he hears running footsteps behind him. He jolts to a halt when someone simultaneously shouts his name and nearly runs into him.

“Connor! Connor, where ya going buddy?"”

Connor sighs, listlessly looking away from Asher’s hard gaze. “I don’t know, I just… I don’t fucking know,” he says honestly. He thought he was walking towards his car, but looking around, he suddenly realizes he’d been heading in the opposite direction of the parking lot. “I don’t know what I’m fucking doing,” he mutters under his breath.

Asher pats him on the arm. “Look, Michaela and I are going to prep for the new case right now, do you want to work with us? Maybe it’ll help take your mind off things!”

Connor narrows his eyes, immediately suspicious. “You two are working together?” He looks past Asher where Michaela is approaching them, clearly refusing to run in her heels. He glances between them back and forth. “ _You_ two?”

Michaela rolls her eyes. “It’s a one time offer, take it or leave it.”

Connor scoffs. “You think I could possibly focus on work right now?”

“Honestly dude, it might be exactly what you need right now.”

“And seriously Connor,” Michaela adds. “It’s the first week of class, do you really want to be in danger of failing so soon?”

Connor sighs, considering giving in. Working on the case might be a good distraction. And as long as Oliver isn’t present, he might not mind the company. “Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s work the damn case.”

Unfortunately, as the three of them sit in a private study room in the library, it doesn’t take long for the other two to get sick of his depressing, obnoxious behavior.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Michaela slams her textbook shut. “Need I remind you that we already lost our first case, and our grades are dependent on this?”

“Need I remind you that I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about our grades?” Connor throws back. “It’s not like we’ve got anything to be proud of.”

“It’s only our second year,” Michaela hisses. “We can still salvage our academic careers.”

“What’s the fucking point?” Connor throws back at her.

Michaela scoffs. “Oh, I don’t know,” she drawls. “Maybe hoping for a better life after we graduate from his hell hole?”

“Bullshit,” Connor mutters.

“Okay, I understand you’re going through a breakup and all, but you need to get your shit together–”

Connor interrupts her. “You’re dreaming if you think we can just get over everything that’s happened–”

“I am sick of your pathetic ass–”

“Do you really think it gets better?” Asher suddenly asks.

They both fall silent and turn to Asher.

“I mean, do you really think the worst is behind us?” Asher whispers. “Annalise doesn’t seem to worry about _anything._ If she does, she doesn’t fucking tell us.” He lifts his eyes and looks to Michaela. “Do you really believe it’s all uphill from here? That we can all get back to normal?”

Michaela swallows uncomfortably, looking down at her closed textbook. “I _have_ to believe it,” she says softly. “I _have_ to.”

A quiet moment passes.

“Do you guys wanna get out of here?” Connor asks, breaking the silence. “Bar?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Thank god.”

Their moods improve drastically after a few shots of liquor. Even Connor has to admit, he doesn’t care much about Oliver dumping him after his fourth shot of tequila. Though he’s not drunk enough to miss the glances being passed between his company.

Michaela will smirk softly at every inane comment from Asher when he’s not looking, instead of her usual eye roll. And Asher glowers not so subtly when a man stopped by their table to ask for Michaela’s number. She politely turned him down. Saying afterwards something about wanting to focus on school this semester. No distractions.

So Connor nurses his beer and sits back, watching the crowd lazily, half listening to the inane conversation between Michaela and Asher. He enjoys the numbness that the alcohol provides him. His mind doesn’t care so much about the presence missing from his side, and as long as he doesn’t think about _him,_ he doesn’t care.

The others must finally take note of his silence, because a nod from Michaela has Asher leaning closer to the table, as if he’s about to whisper something secretive. “So Connor, buddy… see anything ya like, bro?”

“Oh please no,” Michaela moans, suddenly regretting her actions. “Don’t go back to that again, pleeease, I’m begging you.”

Connor scoffs. “Hasn’t even crossed my mind,” he says truthfully. He shrugs when the others look at him doubtfully. “I can’t imagine being with anyone but him, okay?” Connor says softly.

Asher quickly shakes his head. “That’s sweet. But listen, it’s a well documented fact that the best way to get over a breakup is _rebound_ sex,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Preferably with a hot stranger. You need me to wingman for you, bro?”

“I’m pretty sure with you around, you’d actually lower his chances of scoring,” Michaela says sarcastically.

Connor sighs as they start bickering again. He leans back into the booth, takes a heavy drink from his bottle, and looks around the crowded bar. Sure, there are plenty of attractive faces that he could hook up with–a year ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about _not._

But now the thought repulses him, and he feels his mood quickly tanking.

Not thinking about Oliver only works when he’s _not thinking_ about Oliver.

He closes his eyes in misery, and somehow only sees Oliver’s face, hears his words– _“I think we should break up”_ –

“More shots!” Asher suddenly shouts loudly.

Two more shots down the hole later he’s seeing triple of everything. But the good news is that he feels a hell of a lot better.

Asher, who had been matching him shot for shot, thumps a heavy hand on Connor’s back. “Forget about that guy, you don’t need him, Walsh!”

Michaela rolls her eyes, carefully sipping her wine. “Shut up,” she says to Asher. “You literally don’t know what you’re talking about. He’ll never do better than Oliver.” She turns to Connor quietly. “I know this might be a foreign concept to you, but have you tried, I don’t know, actually talking to him?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Connor slurs.

Michaela groans. “Typical boys,” she mutters under her breath before taking another drink. “And you wonder why your relationship fell apart.”

“I don’t want to fucking talk,” Connor grumbles. “If _he_ wanted to talk, maybe he should have done that instead of just dumping me.”

"Well, I mean,” Asher hiccups loudly. “It kinda just sounds like you just ran out of there, dude.” He shrugs. “Maybe he did want to talk?”

“You’re supposed to be on _my_ side,” Connor hisses.

“We’re not on anybody’s side,” Michaela clarifies. “Because you’re both in the wrong. You’ve been keeping secrets from him since the beginning. And I’m not saying you were wrong to keep _certain_ things from him–but you’ve got to admit your relationship has been full of problems since the day you started hooking up.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Connor mutters. “I know I’m why everything fell apart. I just… don’t know how to be around him. I _want_ to be mad, I _want_ to get angry, but whenever I see him, or even think about him… I just fall to pieces.”

Michaela stays sympathetically silent.

Asher hiccups again, and leans closer than Connor would like to whisper in his ear. “Hey that guy by the bar has been staring at you. How much you wanna bet he wants dat ass?”

Michaela smacks him across the head.

Connor laughs until he snorts and decides it’s time for another round of tequila.

Maybe that last shot is the one that does him over. The rest of the night is a blur of inappropriate jokes and laughter. When they finally head out for the night, Michaela and Asher practically leave hand in hand, leaning on each other for support, which Connor tries his best not to think about why.

“Walsh, you need a place to crash tonight?”

Connor shakes his head. “No, I think I need to go home.” It’s an awfully sobering thought, and Michaela gives him a sympathetic smile.

“You gonna get home okay?”

Connor nods, gesturing with his phone. “I’m gonna call an Uber.”

“Alright, seeya tomorrow man.”

Connor doesn’t remember much about the ride to the apartment he shares with Oliver. He’s so inebriated he doesn’t even register the fact that he’ll actually be _seeing_ Oliver again. And he’ll have to finally talk to him… He is however, taken by surprise–once he finally reaches his front door–by how fucking difficult it is to insert his key into the keyhole.

He keeps trying again and again, muttering curses under his breath. And just when he finally realizes that he was using the wrong key, the door flies open in front of him.

And Oliver’s just beyond the doorway, mere inches away.

Connor bursts into inappropriate laughter. The guy is right there in front of him. But he’s not the Oliver that he can kiss and hold and profess his love to. That Oliver doesn’t exist anymore. “Oliver!” He exclaims. It feels like ages since he had last seen him.

Oliver stares at him wildly. “Are you drunk?” He whispers.

Connor doesn’t even bother to play it casual. He stumbles into the apartment, tripping over the keys that fell out of his hand. “Honey, I’m hooooooome!” He says obnoxiously, then he laughs at his own poor attempt at a joke.

Oliver slowly bends down to pick up the other man’s keys. He closes the door silently and walks over to set them down on the counter. “Connor, what did you do?” Oliver asks, watching the other man anxiously. “Please please please tell me you didn’t–”

All humor drains out of him. “Didn’t what?” Connor growls at him, a hard edge to his voice.

Oliver swallows, his fears suddenly too many to name.

“Didn’t what?” Connor demands again.

“Did you do drugs?” Oliver whispers. “Did you–did you hook up with someone else?”

“Stop it,” Connor hisses, suddenly so angry, he’s seeing red. He doesn’t need another one of his lies thrown in his face. Even in his drunken state, he wonders if he’s being irrational. “Stop it! Stop _caring!”_

“What?” Oliver asks helplessly.

“ _You_ broke up with me,” Connor growls. “ _You_ don’t get to fucking care about what I do with my life anymore.”

“That’s bullshit, Connor and you know it!” Oliver throws his arms up in frustration. “Just because I broke up with you doesn’t mean I don’t care about you–it doesn’t mean I don’t love you!”

Connor swallows and silently glares at Oliver. He sways on his feet and suddenly drops onto the couch behind him. _You still love me?_ He wants to ask.

“You don’t come home last night, you show up drunk when it’s damn near midnight,” Oliver shakes his head sadly. “I’m worried about you, Connor.”

Connor shakes his head and drops his gaze to the coffee table. “You don’t get to worry about me anymore. You don’t get to know about my life.”

Oliver scoffs, finally starting to get pissed off at Connor’s childish behavior. “It’s not like you ever told me much anyway.”

It’s a low blow, and Connor closes his eyes. It’s yet another reminder that he’s the reason why their relationship fell apart.

“Why did you even bother coming back here tonight?”

“Well, I fucking live here, don’t I?” Connor spits.

“Whatever,” Oliver shakes his head and moves towards the bedroom. “You’re being an ass. Just sleep it off. I’m going to bed, you better not keep me up.” He silently curses the lack of divider between the living room and the bedroom.

Connor doesn’t move from his position on the couch. He just sits, head bowed, silently listening to the sounds of Oliver getting ready for bed. They used to do this routine together. _Pajamas, brush teeth, pick out suit for tomorrow, contacts, lights out._

Now he listens from the living room as Oliver goes through the motions without him. He’s only a few feet away but there might as well be miles separating them.

When the lights from the bedroom finally go out, Connor closes his eyes and counts to ten. Then he gets up, walks to the kitchen as steadily as he can and drinks an entire glass of water. He silently pads into the bathroom through the bedroom, trying not to think about the fact that Oliver is sleeping–more likely pretending to be asleep–underneath covers that they used to share.

He takes care of his own routine and prepares himself for another miserable night on a couch. At least this one is more comfortable than the last.

~~~

It’s the over excessive noise from the kitchen as well as the intoxicating smell of bacon wafting from it that wakes him the next morning. Connor groans and rolls over on the couch, begging for more sleep. There’s only a slight pounding in the back of his head, thanks to that full glass of water. But the sound of a pan banging against the sink makes it impossible to sleep. He has half a mind that Oliver’s being as loud as possible on purpose.

When Connor finally wills himself to open his eyes and lift his head, he sees Oliver in the kitchen, going through the familiar motions of making their–his?–breakfast.

Back when they were still _them_ , it used to be a bit of a game seeing whoever could wake up earlier and make breakfast for the both of them. It ended up being just about half and half most of the time.

Connor groans and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He pulls himself to his feet and silently walks to the bathroom to shower. He can’t deal with Oliver or his breakfast at the moment.

The hot water burns his skin and he feels better than he has in days. He scrubs harshly, wishing he could scrub away the last few days of his life. He hates being in this apartment. There’s nothing in here that doesn’t remind him of a better time. Worst of all is Oliver. How dare he act like he’s not affected by the end of their relationship? How dare he throw out _I love you’s_ like they mean might mean something, and then throw Connor out with them?

Connor seethes as he turns the water off, somehow shaking even though the water was the furthest thing from cold. He takes a deep breath and grabs his towel from the rack, silently cursing how it hangs next to Oliver’s. They don’t belong together. It’s silly and childish, but if Connor and Oliver aren’t together, then their fucking towels shouldn’t be either!

He roughly towels off his hair, and he’s about to wrap the towel around himself to dry off when he hears Oliver moving around in the bedroom. The petty, vindictive side of him opens the door before he can think twice and carefully reconsider his actions. He steps out–towel still wrapped around his head–dripping wet onto their carpet. And he doesn’t look up until he hears a loud thump in front of him.

The glass of orange juice that was in Oliver’s hand is now an orange soaked puddle on their carpet. And Oliver stares, jaw dropped and gaping like a fish.

Connor raises an eyebrow at him. Afterall, if Oliver is going to act like everything’s fine and normal, why shouldn’t he?

“Is there a problem?” He asks, tilting his head casually.

Oliver seems to have lost his voice, still blatantly staring. He opens and closes his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is soft wheeze.

Connor smirks and turns around. The towel rests on his shoulders as he looks for clothes in the dresser they share.

Behind him, he hears Oliver scramble for his things. And less than a minute later, the front door slams loudly as he leaves the apartment without another word.

The small satisfaction of finally getting a reaction out of Oliver is all the motivation Connor needs to get himself to class.

Unsurprisingly, Oliver refuses to meet his eye from where he sits at the instructor’s desk, looking like he’s taking notes like a good little teacher’s let. Which is fucking ridiculous, he’s not even a student! He’s just an assistant.

And Connor’s still thinking petty thoughts when Annalise calls on him for the second day in a row.

But Connor couldn’t care less about the hopeless case Annalise picked out for them. “The guy was found with the murder weapon on him,” he says simply.

“That just makes our job harder.”

“He ran away,” Connor insists and shrugs his shoulders. “He’s covered in her blood! She’s on him, he’s on her! He attacked a cop who was arresting him!” He laughs sardonically. “I understand you want to take on pro bono cases to save your rep, but did you have to choose one that’s next to impossible to win? What point are you trying to prove?”

The entire class falls silent.

“Mr. Walsh, this conversation is over,” Annalise says slowly. “See me after class.”

Connor lets out a breath through his nose. It’s possible he took it a bit too far.

“Dude…” Asher whispers behind him.

Connor spends the rest of the class staring angrily at his blank notebook. By the time the classroom has cleared except for him and Annalise, he’s still sitting silently in his seat.

Slowly, he packs his bag and walks to the front of the classroom where Annalise watches him expectantly. Heart thumping in his chest, he doesn’t meet her eye.

“Connor,” Annalise starts with a low voice. “From what I understand, you’re currently having some personal problems. I hope you’re not letting that affect your performance in my class.”

Connor sighs softly, and still doesn’t meet her gaze. “I just… find it difficult to care about coursework at the moment.”

“I see.” Annalise slowly sits in the chair and motions to the other. Reluctantly, Connor takes a seat. The scrape of the moving chair echoes loudly throughout the empty lecture hall.

“I hand picked every single student in this class. Do you know why I chose you?”

Connor scoffs. “You chose the five of us because you wanted to keep an eye on us. Make sure none of us crack.”

Annalise purses her lips. “I chose you because we’ve been through hell together and we _survived._ That’s what we are. Survivors.”

Connor swallows and looks away. He can’t think about murders and dead bodies without the sight of blood and the smell of smoke filling his senses.

“And now that we’re past it, I want you to succeed–”

“Past it?” Connor asks incredulously. “You really think any of us are past it? The rest of them put on a good front but everyone is a–”

“You’ve always dealt with it worse than them,” Annalise shakes her head. “And I’ve told you before, it’s because you’re a worrier.”

“You made us cover up two murders,” Connor whispers. “I think I deserve to worry a bit.”

“I didn’t _make_ you do anything, Connor.” Annalise growls. “Notice how you’re not in prison right now. You could have gone to the police at any time, but you _didn’t._ Because deep down you know that I made the best decision for us that I could at the time.” She takes a sharp breath and lowers her voice. “Perhaps you should be counting your blessings instead of biting your nails wondering when the police are going to be breaking down your door.”

Connor looks down to his lap. His hands clench the hem of his shirt tight enough to hurt–he can see the whites of his knuckles. He loosens his grip and lets out a shuddering breath. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t worry they’ll get caught. Even after a quiet and uneventful summer, the fear hasn’t faded.

“We were all put in one bad situation after another, situations that were _out_ of our control,” Annalise continues when he doesn’t speak. “We’re good people who have done bad things.”

“Say it until you believe it,” Connor murmurs softly.

“I did the things that I did for _all_ of us. I did it to protect _all_ of us, whether you realize it or not. And I hate to see you throwing your life away after all my efforts.”

Connor looks up in surprise. “That’s–that’s not what I’m doing,” he stutters.

Annalise feigns surprise. “Isn’t it? Your work has been abysmal. When’s the last time you contributed real effort to a case? Actually gave a damn about your studies? Actually cared about _winning?”_

Connor looks away, hating the truth to her words. It’s been so long he can’t even remember.

“There was a time when you were the top student in my class. Do you remember that? I knew you would be great from the moment you opened your mouth on that first day. And I knew because I saw myself in you,” Annalise says softly. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that brilliant young man again.”

“I kind of miss him too,” Connor says quietly, biting his lip. “I don’t know if that guy even exists anymore.”

“Oh Connor,” Annalise gives him a knowing grin. “He’s still in there. Buried somewhere underneath that fear, uncertainly, and crushing anxiety…”

“I don’t know how to be that guy again,” Connor shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can.”

Annalise sits up slightly in her seat. “I spent a long part of my life hating myself.” She holds Connor’s gaze when his eyes swing up to meet her’s. “I felt… lost, confused… uncertain. Until I realized that until you learn to accept yourself for who you are, you will _never_ be happy. So embrace your flaws, because they make you who you are. And never be ashamed of who you are. Do you understand me?”

Connor nods slowly. “Yeah,” he replies softly.

“Now, go home, Mr. Walsh. Work on this case, and tomorrow I want to see what you’ve got.” She watches him carefully as he slowly stands to his feet and grabs his bag. “I know you’ll find your way again, people like you and me always do.”

“And one more thing,” she says before he can leave.

Connor glances up again.

“Don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself.” She gives him a half-smile and Connor nods in return. He silently turns and exits the lecture hall, only feeling more uncertain than he did before.

He’s lost in thought the entire way home. It’s not the first time he’d stopped to consider how much he had changed in less than a year. More than once he caught himself doing things that he never would have done before. Enter into a domestic, cohabiting, monogamous relationship being only one of them.

One thing’s for sure, he certainly misses the simplicity of life before. How simple it was to have one, single goal… and that was to be the best. He always used to put himself first, no matter what the cost. And his ruthlessness got him the best grades and the highest test scores. Damnit he _liked_ who he was back then.

Nowadays, he struggles to juggle the stress of keeping all his secrets, and… Oliver.

Oliver who kept him steady and grounded, even when he thought he was falling apart. But now without him, is he falling apart?

Or has he been looking at this wrong the entire time?

Connor slowly opens the door to apartment 303.

Oliver’s not home, and Connor lets out a soft sigh of relief. He steps inside and closes the door behind him with a click. He looks around the quiet room, a mess of everything _his and Oliver’s_. Everything about _their_ apartment is so fucking… domestic. Looking around, forcing himself to relive months of memories, Connor suddenly realizes that his wonderful, loving life in this apartment was so quiet and… fake.

The feelings were real. There’s no doubt that he loved Oliver–he still does.

But the mountain of lies grew taller each and every day. He used this place as a safe haven to get away from the stress of his life outside. He used Oliver as a crutch, used him to escape from the nightmares and the terror. He used him.

And Oliver let him.

And somewhere along the way, he lost himself in that mountain of lies.

Connor continues reminiscing as he makes his way from the kitchen to the living room, and then finally to the bedroom. He can’t help but smirk at the orange juice stain that’s definitely set into the carpet.

There were mostly good memories from the bedroom. Actually, there are a _lot_ of good memories from the bedroom.

Good sex, messy sex, birthday sex, ‘the couch slob is finally gone’ sex… even ‘oops we ran out of lube but let’s do it anyway’ sex. Connor grins and bites his lip, turning away from the bed. They had a lot of sex. Maybe Oliver was right, and it was so good that it left them blind to how awful and fucked up their relationship really was.

Connor takes a deep breath and leaves the bedroom.

He settles onto the couch with his work bag next to him. Back then, _before,_ whenever he would put his mind to something, he wouldn’t stop until he got it done. No matter what the cost. He never let fear, uncertainty, or ‘what ifs’ hold him back. There was nothing he couldn’t accomplish.

Connor slowly slides the case file out of his bag along with his blank notebook.

He hasn’t done this in a long while.

Connor sighs and takes a pen out of his bag. He snaps off the cap in his mouth, and gets to work.

_Murder weapon found on the suspect at the time of arrest. Blood on the suspect that matches the victim’s. Evidence of sexual intercourse prior to death. Amphetamines found in the suspect’s system but not the victim’s. Suspect was ID’d by the primary witness in the case._

_No jury in the world wouldn’t convict this guy._

_The suspect insists that he’s innocent, that he didn’t do it. And he wants to plead not guilty. But the best scenario is a confession that might take off a few years. Could they plead insanity? Blame it on the drugs?_

_And what’s the motive? The suspect says he didn’t know the victim, they met only a few hours prior to her death. Is this a crime of passion? The guy has a clean record, no history of violence._

_But her blood was ON him and he HAD the murder weapon._

_It’s a hopeless case. The police aren’t even looking for other suspects, they think they’ve got their guy._

_What could they argue to lower the sentence?_

_Is not guilty really the way to go?_

_Is he not guilty?_

The sound of the front door opening pulls Connor out of his thoughts. He looks up from the coffee table, papers and books spread all around him. This should have been a familiar sight for Oliver.

“Hi,” Oliver says awkwardly, stepping closer and gently setting his bag down on the seat.

Connor only nods in response, looking back down to his papers.

Oliver sighs and silently walks past the other man into the bedroom, loosening his tie on the way.

“Shit,” Oliver curses at the sight of the hideous orange juice stain on the floor. He bends down and picks up the sticky, abandoned glass, scowls at the back of Connor’s head, and brings it to the kitchen. “Can we talk?” He finally asks, approaching the living room where Connor’s hunched over the coffee table.

Connor doesn’t attempt to hide his frustrated sigh. He’s starting to go cross-eyed from all the papers in front of him. “What is it?” He mutters under his breath. “I’m busy working the case?”

“Did Annalise ream you out or something?” Oliver tries to joke, but it falls dead even to his own ears.

Connor doesn’t smile. He looks up at the other man, an expectant glare in his eyes.

Oliver drops his gaze. He’s not sure why he’s even trying to be civil at this point. “When… when are you moving out?” He finally asks.

“Seriously?” Connor narrows his eyes and stares up at him in disbelief. “It’s been two fucking days.”

Oliver bites back a retort.

“Do you really think I’ve had the time to look for a new place?” Connor demands. “In the _two_ days since you turned my life upside down?”

“Connor, this has been just as hard on me as it has been on you,” Oliver says dryly, refusing to meet his gaze.

Connor scoffs. “Somehow I find that really fucking hard to believe.”

“You don’t believe me?” Oliver looks up in shock. “What do you–”

“Let’s see, you got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?” Connor starts ticking off on his fingers. “You got your ‘exciting’ job that you knew I didn’t want you to take! You’re not the one losing your home. You don’t even look upset–you’re just living your life like nothing is even wrong, like _nothing_ has fucking changed for you!” He says, gesturing wildly. “Meanwhile, I’m over here, feeling like my fucking life is falling apart!” He spits.

Oliver gapes at him. “You–you think I’m not upset about this–”

“Shut up!”

“Don’t yell at me, Connor!”

“Why not?” Connor screams. “You wanted me to get angry, right? Well, I’m pretty fucking angry right now! I’m angry that you don’t seem to be affected by this breakup! I’m angry that _you_ were the one who cost me Stanford and I tried to be the bigger person, but somehow _I_ ended up getting dumped!”

Oliver looks away, shaking his head and trying to hide the tears that are forming.

“And I get it,” Connor continues harshly. “We’re fucked up. We _were_ fucked up. Whatever we had… it wasn’t the perfect relationship that I liked to pretend it was. I see that now. So don’t you worry, I will get right on with that apartment hunting!”

“Connor, I’m sorry–I–” Oliver tries, but he stumbles over his words and he can’t quite meet the anger in Connor’s eyes. “I didn’t mean–you can stay as long as you want–”

“I don’t care,” Connor cuts him off. “We’re over–you ended it. I’m not gonna fucking mope about it anymore. I’m just over it.” He sighs and lets his shoulders sag. “If you want to pretend like what we had meant nothing to you–”

“That’s not what’s happening, Connor–” Oliver throws his arms up in frustration. “You know you mean a lot to me, you _know_ that–I just… I just want to be okay without you…”

“Yeah, well _I_ don’t want you to be okay,” Connor growls. “I want you to feel as _awful_ as I do.” He stops when the words he said finally register in his head. It’s true… and it’s terrible. He swallows and takes a shaky breath, staring at Oliver through the tears in his eyes. “I always do that, don’t I?” He whispers. “I just… bring you down to my level.”

Oliver looks away silently.

Connor gives a derisive laugh. “Yeah well, I guess it doesn’t matter much anymore, right?” He slowly walks around the coffee talk, gives the other man a wide berth and heads into the kitchen. Oliver’s eyes burn a hole into his back. But for a moment, neither of them speak.

“Maybe you’re right,” Connor says softly. “Maybe we’re better off apart. We only ever seem to hurt each other.”

Oliver bites his lip, feeling his heart break from the other man’s words. “Connor…”

“I’ve become so reliant on you,” Connor murmurs, staring down at the counter. “It turns out you were right. We are toxic together.” He turns around slowly so that Oliver can see what he holds in his hand. It’s the bottle of Truvada that’s been a part of their little drug hoard sitting on their kitchen counter since the beginning of their relationship. The pills that Connor takes every single morning without fail. Connor stares down at the label with his name for a moment before he wordlessly drops the bottle into the trash.

Connor lifts his head just in time to catch the hurt on Oliver’s face.

He thinks Oliver might be crying. But he doesn’t give him a second glance. He simply walks around him to the living room. He packs up his papers and books, and leaves the apartment before Oliver can utter another word.

Connor takes a deep breath of fresh air once he’s outside, letting it fill his lungs and clear his thoughts. He’s not going to think about Oliver anymore. He’s not going to think about the look on his face, or the pain he felt when Oliver ended things, or the way Oliver _used_ to make him feel.

He needs to focus on himself right now. And that means focusing on this case.

So that’s exactly what he does.

And strangely, much to his surprise. It’s enough.

~~~

“Mr. Walsh, I believe you have something prepared for me?”

Connor stands from his seat, and takes a deep breath to focus. Once again, he feels all eyes on him, but he’s not nervous this time. He stands a little straighter. “We plead not guilty,” he says firmly.

“And get laughed out of court?” Annalise asks.

“The primary witness lied,” Connor holds up a thumb drive for the class to see. “Mr. Trevor states that he was alone the night that he encountered the suspect and the victim together.” He hands the thumb drive to Annalise’s awaiting hand. “However, security footage from the convenience store the next block down suggests otherwise. It sounds like we may need to interview the suspect and the witness again.”

Annalise plays the footage from her laptop onto the screen in the front of the classroom. Sure enough, the primary witness walks down the street with another man, talking closely with each other.

“Not only that,” Connor continues. “But after a long night spent at the police station, I was able to find the identity of this mysterious man. His name is Read Summers, and he has a criminal record. He’s been caught in drug busts, dealing mostly in amphetamines–the same kind found in our suspect but not the victim.” Connor tilts his chin as he catches Annalise’s gaze again. “This should be more than enough reason to widen the search for another suspect _with_ a more convincing motive.”

A beat passes, and Annalise smiles. “Good job, Mr. Walsh. And congratulations, you will be first chair in this case.”

Connor nods, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, though he tries to hide it. He takes a seat, feeling better than he has in days. The rest of the class passes by in a breeze–and he actually takes notes this time.

It’s a good feeling, knowing that he can get by on his own merit. That the part of him that he thought he lost after Sam’s death, isn’t gone forever. It’s a good feeling.

As he packs up to leave at the end of lecture, he hears Michaela’s voice behind him.

“Hey,” Michaela taps him on the shoulder. “You still looking for an apartment?”

Connor looks at her in surprise. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

~~~

Connor looks up when he hears the front door open, already dreading seeing Oliver again. But he doesn’t say a word and continues taking clothes out of the dresser and putting them in the suitcase he has laid out on the bed.

Oliver slowly enters the bedroom, looking surprised to see him. “Hey,” he says slowly. “I uh–I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Yeah, I um…” Connor drops his gaze to the open suitcase in front of him. “I found a place to live.”

“Oh! Uh…” Oliver glances around at the numerous open suitcases and boxes scattered around the floor of their bedroom. “You’re moving out,” he states bluntly.

“Yeah,” Connor gives a small laugh. “Michaela found out that there was a surprise vacancy in her building and she was kind enough to get me an application. I um… I don’t want to be in your hair any longer than I have to be.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to go so soon,” Oliver says softly, as he glances at the empty, pulled out drawer of their dresser.

Connor shrugs and looks down, dropping a random sock into the suitcase.

“Congratulations on the case,” Oliver says genuinely. “I heard from Bonnie,” he explains when Connor looks to him in confusion.

“Thanks, but… we haven’t won yet.”

“First chair though, that’s pretty exciting. I’m sure you’re going to do just fine.”

Connor grins softly. “It’s the first time I’ve felt good about myself in… longer than I can remember.” He licks his lips and looks away. “You were right to end things, Oliver. I wasn’t happy. Maybe neither of us were.” He swallows and meets Oliver’s gaze again. “I thought… I thought if I could just hold onto what we had, that… it would be enough. I just… I just kept lying, to you–to myself. Just going through the motions, pretending like everything’s normal, when it’s not. And you were right, that’s not healthy. I’m deluding myself if I think otherwise,” he lets out a soft laugh. “I was just trying to be happy. But the truth is, I lost myself a long time ago. And I need to get that back.”

Oliver nods wordlessly. He takes a shaky breath and turns to start walking away.  

“Oliver?”

“Yeah?” Oliver turns back to look at the other man.

“I’m sorry about the carpet,” Connor gives him a small, crooked grin. “I can pay to have it replaced. I don’t what to cost you your security deposit.”

Oliver blushes and grins in return. “Thanks.”

Connor nods and returns to his packing as Oliver slowly walks away.

Oliver sighs softly to himself once he’s alone in the kitchen, away from the other man. He doesn’t know how to feel. On one hand, this is exactly what he wanted. He wants space to figure himself out. And he can’t do that with Connor here, reminding him every second of every day that it would just be easier to fake it and be together again. He knows that this is for the best–for both of them.

But on the other hand, he doesn’t want to see Connor go.

With Connor moving out, it makes the breakup seem so… final. Like they’re closing the door on the chapter that is _Oliver and Connor._ What if they never open that door again?

Oliver bites his lip, looking around and for the first time noticing a box set on the counter. Looking inside, he sees the few kitchenware items that Connor owns carefully packed away.

And also… a small white bottle with a white label.

Oliver picks up the bottle.

Truvada. Prescribed to Connor Walsh.

Oliver grins softly as he stares at the familiar bottle. Connor kept it after all.

Oliver gently sets the bottle down in the box again, feeling a bit lighter and happier for it. 

Maybe there is hope for them after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://winters-blue-children.tumblr.com)


End file.
